#Nash Wilder

[talicor]

Went to the fae realm for a few episodes and it was amazing ok.

[daman19942]

Recently installed @plumbtales Three Lakes and am simply blown away by it. I need to take more photos, but for now I did a quick test with the Beltz family (since they basically live that mountainous, Three Lakes life already). Plus, Leo got a couple huge bonuses towards the end of the Law Enforcement career, so they bought Copper Ranch Retreat and visited before Nash grows up and Wilder heads of to La Fiesta Tech.

Maybe it's just been so long since I've seen it, but have I been sleeping on the Log Roller as one of the coolest objects in the game??? Can't wait to explore this vacation hood in more detail.

[artbylenshypnotix]

@marzipanthots Hi Here are some of my Top MM Love stories - Enemies to Lovers.. Slow burn, hot hero tortured, MC1 abused by MC2 turn Lover , MM Whomp books - highly recommended

#1 Captive Prince - CS Pacat

#2 Prince’s Assassin - Ariana Nash

#3) Kate Aaron - Free Men Series - MM Romance - The Slave, The Soldier, The Master

#4) Ann Somerville- The Surrogate - hell yeah MMM

#5) Ai No Kusabi book series - holy shit - an elite kidnaps the head of a street gang and and sets out to break him down until he’s a willing Pet/ sex slave - MM

#5.5) Taming Riki book series the Alternative Universe of the Ai No Kusabi series -MM, MM

#6) Bloodraven PL Nunn - only for the strong - M M(other) -Serious Warning labels

#7) Jex Lane - Beautiful Monsters - ( Captive, Sire , Broken) MMM(Other) - Warning Labels

#8) Ariana Nash- Silk and Steel (4 books) Series - Fantasy MM

—- What’s your favorites?

——Some new adds

#9) Adrienne Wilder - 2 books - NOX & Anubis - a powerful Beta abducts the man that will be his alpha -Other M/M

#10) Lily Mayne - 9 books of the monstrous series starting with Soul Eater - Other M,M

#11) KA Merikan - Feel My Pain - triggers

[movie-titlecards]

Phantom from Space (1953)

My rating: 3/10

Radar Secret Service, but with a big lumpy radioactive spaceman. Still just as dull, though.

[warningsine]

[whocaresstillthelouvre]

Stay Awhile & Listen

Elks Chapter 5

Chapter Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Chapter Summary: Joel's back from patrol and he has a surprise for you. Chapter Warnings: An abundance of softness, oral (m & f receiving), cum swallowing, Joel talks a lot about feelings, reader's a nervous creature and Joel's good at taking care of her. Words: 3,700 Pairing: Jackson Joel Miller x Female Reader Series Summary: Life in Jackson is quite comfortable and simple for you. You love teaching your students and running your library, you love the comforts of living here, perfectly complacent with the company of your two cats, guitar, tattered CD book, and a few friends. You like comfortable and simple, though the feelings you feel whenever you see Joel Miller are quite the opposite. Once you meet him, it seems like he needs you in his life as much as you need him. Reader Background: Reader is in her 30's and comes from Colorado. No other physical descriptors besides her having long enough hair to put up. A/N: We've made it folks! First chapter with smut.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Masterlist Playlist *** “See The Changes” by Crosby, Stills & Nash. 

You’ve never been outside the gates of Jackson since your arrival. You’ve lived with barriers longer than without them, why would you ever sign yourself up to see what lies beyond the iron and wood confines? You’re well aware you know less about how to survive than your own students. You’re sheltered you’ve never doubted that, you’re okay with that. Joel? Not so much. 

“You’ve never wanted to leave?” Joel asks over a cup of coffee sitting next to you on his couch. 

It’s Saturday, he’s exhausted after almost a week on a patrol. You could tell as soon as he ambled into your library, tired eyed and a little more gruff voiced than usual… and yet he still invited you over for dinner. He insisted on it even, no matter how much you offered to host him. “Nonsense, you’re working all day, let me cook.” 

“Not really,” you lean back after placing your empty cup on the table, “I’ve really had no reason, and it was never asked of me. I’m sure it’s really dumb of me.”

“Not dumb, just not smar—“

“Just say dumb, Joel,” you turn towards him. 

“Never call you dumb,” a hand cradles your cheek, “I just think you should know the basics of how the world works outside here, just in case there’s a problem. I don’t like the idea of you being unprepared. Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

“I do,” you answer moving to rest your head against his chest. “They put us through a rudimentary training program here when I first got here, I know how to defend myself.”

“Rudimentary?” 

“Yeah, it means basic.”

“You’re so smart, glad there’s people like you still around.”

“Well,” angling your head up towards him, “you just spent almost a week in the wilderness protecting us and scavenging for supplies. I’m glad there’s people like you.”

“Hm. Speaking of scavenging, I have something for you. S’why I wanted you to come over here. Shut your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you, okay?”

“Is it good, Joel?”

He chuckles and kisses your forehead. “Of course it’s good, now do what I said.”

You close your eyes, placing your hands over them for extra emphasis. You hear Joel grunt as he stands, he grabs your chin, angles it up and gives you a kiss. 

You feel giddy as you hear him walk away, you try to ascertain where Joel is headed over the soft music playing, hearing his footsteps bound up the stairs. 

You’re downstairs all alone, yet you still don’t open your eyes. 

“Eyes still closed?” Joel shouts from upstairs.

“Yes!” You yell, your voice sparking with excitement. 

“Alright, coming down,” heavy footsteps thud down the steps, “don’t peek.”

“I’m not. Promise.”

You rock back and forth on the couch edge as you hear Joel take a seat on his coffee table across from you. You know you’re a nervous creature, but you haven’t felt this type of excited nervousness in years. 

“You can open ‘em,” he softly instructs. 

Your eyes open, first focusing on Joel, a half grin on his face, your eyes move down to see he has something sitting on his lap.

“How in the world? Joel! How did you find this?” your voice peaking with elation as you grab the small gray box away from his lap.

“Traded my brother for it. He ’n Maria need a crib, so I just signed myself up to furnish their kid’s room.” 

“You didn’t have to do that, plus I don’t want to take their stereo. I can’t do that to them,” you reluctantly lift the stereo towards him.

“They still have a record player and besides, they were happy to help you out when I mentioned it to Tommy,” Joel pushes the stereo back in your lap. “It’s small, but it’ll work until we can get you something better.” 

You push down on the CD door and watch it pop open, you’re amazed the hinges still work, you had something like this in middle school. It was blue, you covered it in butterfly and smiley face stickers. 

“Joel, this is… wow,” tears well in your eyes at his thoughtfulness. “I’ve never had someone do anything like you’ve done for me. You just fixed my guitar last week, and now this?” You hastily wipe a rogue tear that escapes away, “I can’t thank you enough, this is so sweet.”

“No need for tears, it was nothing,” he wipes a tear from your cheek, “really sweetheart, I wanted to do this for you.” 

He grabs the stereo from your lap, placing it next to him on the table. “I still feel like I owe you so much for what you did in there,” his head turns towards his studio. “For years I never believed beauty could exist in this world, people like you never survived,” his eyes meet yours as he turns back, “’n I walk into my home one day ’n you’re with Ellie, I finally meet the teacher she won’t stop talking about. You were so beautiful, ’n you left, leaving your CD. I listened to it, selfishly, because I wanted to know more about you.”

His voice is so soft, his words wrapping you in a feeling you’ve never felt before. 

“All the songs on there I’d never heard, pretty new things you left that I got to hear. Then, you fall ’n I bring you in here, you tell me you painted that elk picture, all I could think about that night was how beautiful you were, just like your painting. I see everything you do in that school room, how pretty it is, how nice you made it for your kids, how you painted the flowers everywhere. After years and years of the life I lived, I needed you to do something like that for me, for my life. Every time I’m around you, I just can’t wait until I see you again.” His eyes don’t leave yours as he brings his hands up to hold your cheeks, the pads of his thumbs rubbing against your chin. “I keep on thinking about that enigma word you called me, and you’re the enigma for me. You still want to make the world—this world better… and you do. I can’t believe you exist, so caring, so soft, so smart, ’n so beautiful. I like when you’re near me, I like how you make me feel new after all this time.” 

Your heart blooms inside your chest, he’s always a man of few words, but the way he confesses his feelings, the way his voice deepens as he tells he you how feels, it makes you want him even more.

His name leaves your mouth as a breath, “I like you near me.” You can’t think of anything else to say.

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he leans forward and kisses you, your hands moving to grab his arms. He’s so big and strong, yet his skin is always so soft and cushioned against your touch. 

His tongue parts your lips and languidly explores your mouth as you taste the bitter coffee left over on his tongue. The way his mouth fits against yours after his words of adoration makes you deepen the kiss grasping his arms tighter.

You want Joel, you’ve thought about last Saturday all week, tensity radiating through your body whenever you’d think about the feeling of your body pressed against his. Every night since lying alone in your bed you’ve been tempted to reach your hand between your legs and soothe the want, but you refused yourself. You dedicated a whole page in your sketchbook to drawing his plush lips, and now they’re back on you. 

You pull back from his kiss catching your breath. “Joel…” 

“You alright?” His wide eyes focused on you.

“I’m good, yeah, just… thinking about how little time it’s been… and I feel like everything is happening so fast… I don’t know, I like it, I just— is it okay?”

“It’s okay with me, if it’s okay with you,” he rubs your knees while he muses. “Time isn’t the same as it was, you take what you can get in the time s’available to you.”

You nod in agreement as goosebumps prickle along your legs from his touch. 

“You were in here only a few weeks ago when you fell,” Joel looks down, “still can see some of the marks left from the rocks on your knees.” He touches you firmer, like he’s trying to contain himself. “You’ve been on my mind since… sometimes you’re all I can think about I know it’s been a short time, but…” his hands roam farther up resting just below your thighs, “I want you, ‘n I really hate wasting time.”

His lips crash against yours, he’s never kissed you like this. It’s enigmatic, his mouth firmly against yours, and yet his movements are so tender, his hands petting you, slowly rubbing against your thighs, tongue languidly licking against yours, but the pressure against your mouth, the firmness of his fingertips as he rubs… he’s so tense and soft. Your arms wrap around his neck as you rise off the couch, your knees thumping against the table as you sit on his lap straddling his thick thighs, never breaking the kiss. 

Two weeks, it’s only been two weeks, but it’s been two weeks of longing glances, shared stories over meals, quiet understandings, smart replies followed by laughter. You’ve wanted this since you first saw him, the desire burning louder once he was no longer a handsome stranger. You’ve reached an ignition point, and Joel is right there with you, holding the match. 

His hands grab your hips, you can feel him against you, his pants tenting against your core.

Denim rubbing against denim as you grind down on top of him. 

Joel peppers kisses down to your chin, running his tongue along your neck, placing open mouth kisses against your collarbone. He explores you like he’s mapped his journey in his head. You tip your head back and moan out as his hands drag up and cup your breasts. He licks his way back up your neck, your hands grab at his jaw, the desire in his eyes darkening them. 

“Joel…” you breathe out.

“What is it sweetheart?”

“I—I want you.”

“Heh,” his exhale hits your lips putting his forehead against yours, “I want you too, baby.”

Baby. A new name, nobody has ever called you baby. The way his drawl stretches out the aaaa, the way his eyes darken even more as he sees what that word does to you, your lips parting with a moan. He catches your moan with his kiss, his lips sucking on your bottom lip, your lips parting to lick his. 

He grabs you by the hips, pulling you closer making you adjust on top of him. He grunts as you grind your core even harder against him trying to soothe the ache between your legs. His hands snake under your shirt, calloused hands palm at the soft skin of your breasts. You haven’t been touched by anybody in over a year, but this? You’ve never been touched like this ever. Other men pale in comparison to Joel Miller. 

Your shirt feels too hot against your skin, you grab at your collar and pull it off, Joel leans back to watch you remove it, he lets out a low rumbled curse as you sit bare chested on top of him. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re so beautiful,” Joel nuzzles his face against your neck and inhales. “Smell so sweet.” 

He buries his head between your breasts, thumbs stroking against your nipples as they harden under his touch. He moves his mouth sealing it over your nipple, your back arching when he sucks it farther in. You whine at the sensation, the want in you sparking even hotter at his touch. 

“Good baby?” His words muffled by your skin, his mouth doesn’t leave your breast. 

“Y-Yes, want your shirt off,” you gasp out, “Want to feel your skin.” He pulls away and straightens, lifting his faded black shirt up and off, throwing it on the couch behind you. 

Your hands reach out and survey the broad expanse of his chest, he’s so warm, you can feel the raised skin of the small scars peppered on him, the smattering of hair across his chest that leads down his belly to his jeans. His breathing rising and falling faster against your hand as you run it across his waistband. You watch yourself unbutton and unzip his jeans. Your tongue comes out to wet your lips as you rub your hands along the length of Joel hidden underneath his underwear. 

“Couch, let’s move,” Joel hisses out. “Here, get up."

You stand on shaky legs, he stays sat on the edge of his coffee table. His hands hold your hips pulling you closer to plant a kiss on your stomach. 

“Want to see all of you first, been thinking ‘bout this after that first day you were on my couch.” 

Your cunt clenches at his words, you don’t think you’ve ever been this wet, and he’s barely even touched you. 

Joel unbuttons and unzips your shorts, he glances up, you give him a nod with a smile that he returns. He pushes your shorts and underwear down leaving you bare and standing in the middle of his living room. Dark brown eyes roam over your body fully on display for him, brows furrowed in concentration as if he’s trying to memorize every mole, curve, scar, and mark on your body. 

“Can’t get over how pretty you are,” he stands up from the coffee table, leaning forward taking your chin in his hand and placing a kiss on your lips. “Now, sit on the couch for me baby.” 

You slowly lower down sitting in the middle pushing your legs together to try to quell the ache in between them.

He stands, his large body looms over you, jeans slung low on his hips, cock laying rigid against the denim. He bends forward and kisses you, hands grabbing your thighs spreading your legs open.

You can feel his breathing accelerate against you as his finger moves across your folds, testing your response, you moan into his kiss as he dips it in and traces a line from your clit to your hole and back.

You’ve imagined him doing this to you back when he was just a crush, just your handsome stranger, your enigma. You never imagined how thick his finger would be, how gentle his touch would feel, how his teeth would gently nibble against your bottom lip. 

“Christ. You’re so tight and it’s just one finger baby,” Joel says, voice low and whispered as he looks down. “Can I taste you?"

You have no words, you grunt a yes as he lowers himself on the floor and pulls you forward, spreading your legs wider. You’re not even shy, being on full display like this, legs stretched open, your pussy dripping for Joel to see. You want him to see all of you, it’s all you’ve ever wished for since that first day you saw his handsome face.

He leans forward, nuzzling his nose against your core. His groan vibrates against your cunt as he tastes you, licking a stripe up.

You’re dripping wet, when Joel adds a second finger you can feel how smooth it slides in and out of you. He looks up from in between your legs while swirling his tongue around your clit, his deep brown eyes gazing into yours. You can’t stop staring at him, the lines between his eyebrows set in determination as he eats you. Your fingers run through his hair, softly combing the waves as his fingers and tongue devastates you.

He’s proven to you numerous times how much he cares for you, but this? This is the ultimate way. The way his fingers pump you, the way his tongue presses down on your clit with the perfect pressure, this is the care you’ve always wanted. 

It’s all so much. What the two of you are doing here in his living room, the build up over the past couple of weeks, the crush you’ve had on him for months culminating here on his couch. The same couch he touched you so tenderly as he bandaged your knee, now that hand is gripping it to stay wide open as he devours you. 

You can feel your orgasm climbing inside with each lick against your swollen clit, each rub of his beard against your sensitive folds, each twist of his fingers inside you. You’re close, so fucking close, and when Joel moans against you, your pussy clenches as it floods with your orgasm. He pulls his fingers out, his tongue licking down to drink you in, tenderly lapping up your wetness, like he’s savoring you and trying to stretch out the time he has between your legs. You moan his name as he leaves a kiss on your clit before pulling away, his mouth and chin glistening from your orgasm. 

Your body tremors through the aftershock of your orgasm, legs still spread wide, your mouth held agape as you pant for air. His hands rub up and down your legs, watching you in awe.  

“Everything about you is too sweet,” he says with a shake of his head as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Still can’t believe you’re real."

He kisses your knee before placing his hands on the couch, anchoring himself to stand. He winces as he rises and stretches his back out. 

“You okay?” you ask as you scoot your back against the couch, noticing how his cock still lays hard underneath his jeans.

“Yeah, just a bad back… probably shouldn’t have been on the floor for that long,” he sees you grimace in guilt, “but it was well worth it.” 

He settles on the couch next to you with a huff, pulling you next to him, feeling his bare chest against yours. 

“What about…” your hand runs up and down his thigh. 

“Mm?” Joel kisses the top of your head. 

“What about me doing the same for you?” your hand moves to grip his bulge. “I want to taste you too.”

Joel groans against your hair, “Yeah? Not gonna argue with that sweetheart.”

Your body thrums at the thought of having Joel in your mouth. You quickly get up from the couch excited that now is your chance to be able to show him how much you’ve thought about this moment.

“You just might be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen baby,” he whispers in awe as you stand between his legs, “s’not gonna take me long.”

With his sweet words, you kneel down and tug at his jeans and briefs revealing his cock. It’s so large, just like his focus on you, just like the tension in the room, just like the orgasm he just gave you. 

You watch his face as you place a hand on his thigh and wrap your other hand around his rigid shaft, your eyes following the gulp of air he swallows travel down his neck. His skin is so soft here, so warm, you can’t wait to feel him inside your mouth. You slowly pump your fist down his length while lowering yourself onto the floor.

God, he’s gorgeous. His cock twitches in your hand as you hold it, wetting your lips, you bend forward and lick the drop of him that’s leaked out his tip. Salt, sweat… Joel. You moan at the taste, Joel lets a low curse growl out of his mouth when you take him deeper into your mouth. He’s so big, he stretches your lips, opens your throat, fills your mouth fully.

“S’good,” he croaks, his hand brushing a piece of hair away from your forehead, “so pretty.”

You bob your head down taking him to the back of your throat, the thought of how much his big cock is going to fill your cunt sends a flutter through your body. 

Joel’s hand tangles in your hair, lightly tugging and setting a pace as you suck him. 

“S’good baby, close— m’close,” his hips rising and falling to meet your movements.

You nod and hum in agreement hollowing your cheeks and sucking harder. 

His hips pull up, your name whispered out of his mouth as he cums down your throat. You swallow every drop, reveling in the taste of him now being a part of you. 

“Jesus Christ,” he pants, “s’amazing.”

———

“So, about the CD player,” Joel’s voice interrupting your reverie, “I’ve decided it comes with a condition.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, you come with me outside of Jackson for a day.”

“Joel…” 

It’s too late for ultimatums, the only reason you haven’t gotten off his couch and walked home is you’re too comfortable laying against his body that’s currently only clad in his underwear while all you wear is his t-shirt.

“It’s important, it doesn’t have to be now, but soon,” his tone is serious, like he’s overtly concerned about your safety and wellbeing. “Please do it for me, sweetheart.”

“I don’t know what’s out there…”

“And I do, ’n I’ll keep you safe, it doesn’t have to be for long… just long enough so if you do have to leave… it won’t be your first time out in years,” he urges. “Get your bearings ’n everything.” 

“You think I’ll be okay out there?”

“I wouldn’t ask of it if I didn’t think you’d be okay.”

“I suppose it makes sense.”

“S’pose so. Doesn’t have to be now but just, when the time is right, I think it’ll be good for you.”

“Okay, if it means I get to keep the CD player.”

Joel tightens his arms around you, pressing his lips against your hair. “You get to keep the CD player darlin’.”

You don’t leave Joel's until the next morning, the both of you falling asleep on his couch with his arms wrapped around you. 

A/N: Hi! If you've made it down this far, I appreciate you. Thank you for reading and sticking with this story. If you'd like to be added to the tag list, let me know.

Tag list: @orcasoul

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: the premonition (mini-series)

Marvel 1920s Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader

Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and he needs a witch to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, fem reader, angst no comfort, graphic wound description, blood/gore, graphic descriptions of stitching, religious punishment (lashings), cults, criminals & crime, 1920s street gangs, witchcraft, visions, horror, bucky barnes has issues, bucky barnes is a dick, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: this was supposed to be longer but i've decided to spilt it into two parts, so sorry you just get angst but the next part will have more comfort/fluff. i'm not super happy with this chapter but i didn't intend for it to be a stand alone part, so it's a lot of doing and not much feeling/reflection lol. i just wanted to get this out because i'm going back to studying full time (as if the first degree wasn't bad enough lol) so the next few weeks might be a bit quiet. sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

taglist: @nash-dara @sebastians-love

main masterlist | series masterlist

There was a large, white wolf in your kitchen. 

You didn’t remember descending the stairs of your small flat or your bare feet leading you into the cramped kitchen. The wooden panels felt cool against your soles, and dust glittered in the air. A short candle flickered on the dining table, illuminating the beast.

It was huge, towering over your benchtops and oven. Its shoulder would have easily reached your waist. Its stark, white fur was matted and stained, covered in ash and filth. In the dim light, you could see deep gashes beneath the pale strands of hair, dripping fresh crimson blood. The blood pooled on the floor, creeping into the cracks of the wood.

The wolf panted, taking hard, shallow breaths that rattled its considerable mass. Its pink tongue dripped pink, a mix of blood and saliva smeared along its yellowing teeth. You could’ve sworn it smiled as its lips pulled back, revealing large, pointed canines. It let out a deep, thunderous growl that vibrated through your chest and rattled your small, latticed windows. 

You found yourself unable to question the absurdity of it. A wolf. In your home. 

Your home had been heavily warded for weeks, if not months. After what had happened… it was the only way to keep out prying eyes and scum. Bucky’s boys would walk up the stairs, quivering as they reached for their hands to post a letter, knock on the door, or pick the lock. They would try with all their might, only to be filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. They would run, tails tucked between their legs. Not even Natasha Romanoff could make it past the threshold. The redhead who dripped with malice, who could make men sweat with fear with just a single look… too afraid to even leave the pavement. 

Your feet don't touch the floorboards as you float forward, ignoring the canine's raised hackles. You look into its big, blue eyes and understand it is in pain, in danger. Your fingers spread, splaying out across its forehead as you run a hand through its matted fur. Ash catches under your nails, and blood stains your skin.

Another reason it was absurd to find such an animal in your home was because wolves were extinct. You had heard tales of these beasts in old folklore—frightening stories to tell children at night, fairytales, and such. Some speculated that these creatures might have roamed the land before the forests were cut down to make way for cities and civilization. Perhaps, out in the wilderness, deep in the forests away from Sootstone and the city of Blackstone, such animals could still exist. Maybe even across the seas, in far-off lands still being explored.

“I fear I’m in a dream, friend.” You murmur to the wolf, touch sweeping to cradle its large, bleeding head. “It’s probably best for us both to wake up.”

The wolf blinks its large, blue eyes at you. Its panting is still ragged, blood sticky across your floors. Deep in your soul, you knew it was a warning. A calling. 

Someone was in danger. 

It is a loud clattering downstairs that startles you awake. 

The sharp clanging and dinging of pots and pans ring through your small abode, as if someone had knocked them from your dining table. In your bleariness, still tangled under your sheets, you blindly search for a candle and match. 

The ruckus below continues, with chairs scraping across the floors, cabinets rattling, and a distinctly male voice muttering all types of obscenities. Your intruder seems to have impulsively walked into your home, knocking over all of your possessions. 

The dream, the premonition—it must have distracted your mind. You could feel your wards were down, the peaceful bubble that had once safely cocooned your home was shattered. The remnants of its invisible wall crunched beneath your bare feet as you thundered down the stairs in your nightgown. 

It must be one of Bucky’s messenger boys. The poor lad must have gotten lucky when he pried open your door and stumbled in just after the ward had fallen. You’d noticed how Bucky’s dogs worked like clockwork; at least three times a day, his boys would try to deliver you a message. You had never intended to find out what that message was. You highly doubted it was an apology, likely just another summons as if you were his pet to call and dismiss as he pleased—

As you rounded the corner into your kitchen, you were met with a sight that made your blood run cold. 

Bucky Barnes, in the flesh, was bleeding and dishevelled in your kitchen.

His face was swollen and mottled with deep purple-black bruising. Dried blood crusted along his temple and brow. His hair, usually neatly slicked back, was now a tangled mess, laden with ash and filth, sticking out in all directions. Gone was his usual suit jacket; instead, he wore a simple white button-down shirt, now barely recognisable beneath the grime. It looked as though he had been dragged through a sewer, with mud and filth clinging to his skin and clothes.

Amidst the caked-on mess, fresh blood seeped from multiple wounds on his back, staining the already dirty fabric with a deep, alarming crimson. Each breath he took seemed laboured, his chest rising and falling with visible effort. He lifted his head to look at you, offering you a haunting grin. One of his eyes was nearly swollen shut, a puffy, dark mound overshadowing his battered face. His bottom lip was split wide open—a deep, jagged tear. Despite his condition, there was an unsettling glint in his one good eye, a spark of something unbroken within the wreckage of his body.

“Your wards were down. Didn’t think you were home.” The gangster wheezes, and his legs give out. 

One of his hands reaches out to brace against your dining table, but his skin, slick with mud and grime, causes his hand to slip, and he plummets forward. In an instant, you rush to his side, grasping the man just before he crashes face-first into your hardwood floors. His weight is staggering—almost too much to bear—as you wrap your arm around his middle, muscles straining as you let out a grunt of exertion. With effort, you manage to push him back into a sitting position. Exhaustion radiates from him as he leans against you, barely able to hold himself up. Your candle has been knocked to the floor, wax dripping onto the floors. 

The flame snuffs itself out, and the two of you are cast into darkness.

“What’re you doin’ here, Barnes?” You mutter demandingly. He responds with a weak chuckle, the sound rough and hollow. His head lolls to the side as he struggles to lift his chin, trying to meet your gaze. In close proximity, the stench on him becomes unbearable—an acrid mix of raw sewage, mud, and the metallic tang of blood. 

“Trust me, I don’t wanna be here either, doll.” Blood gurgles in his mouth as he laughs. You scowl at him, shoving him away so he leans up against the leg of your table. You get to your feet, glancing down at your now filthy nightgown in disgust. 

“You’re really that disgusted by me?” You say under your breath. Your words catch the attention of the gangster, whose amused expression falters. 

“What gave you that impression?” He asks. You frown hard, wavering near his feet as you assess the best way to get the hulking man off your floor. His stocky frame, well filled out with muscle, is almost twice your size. It would be a task to lift him yourself

“Last we spoke. You called me a whore.” You remind him. You don’t meet his eye as you crouch down, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders. Wrapping one of his heavy arms around your shoulders, you place your hand on his back, feeling the heat of his blood seeping through his shirt. His weight is staggering, and you can feel every ounce of it pressing down on you.

He doesn’t reply to your claim. You can tell he is somewhat floored by your confession, surprised that you are still upset. Gritting your teeth, you start to push upwards, immediately feeling the strain in your thighs, calves, and back. His body is like dead weight, almost completely limp except for the occasional twitch of pain. Every muscle in your body protests, but you dig your heels into the floor. The gangster grunts beside you, and when you look over, you see his jaw ticking. You’re unsure if it’s from the pain or your words.

With one final, desperate push, you feel his weight start to lift. He lets out a pained groan, and the muscles in your legs quiver. Using every ounce of strength you have left, you manage to get him onto one of the dining chairs. He flops backward with a sigh, the chair creaking under his weight, and he winces in pain as his gashed back meets the hardwood. You step back, panting heavily, and take a moment to catch your breath. His emotions are hard to read under all the swelling, bruising, and blood that mar his face. 

“So much for an apology.” You dare to say, words dripping with bitterness. The gangster finally peeks at you through his swollen eye with a disapproving look, his gaze hard.

“Apologisin’ is bad for business,” he says, his voice rough but earnest. “But I can admit when I am wrong. And I was wrong for sayin’ that.”

His words catch you off guard—a rare moment of humility from the hardened criminal. But the walls he’s built around himself are quick to rise again, and you can see the familiar defiance creeping back into his gaze. You don’t linger on it.

You suck in a sharp breath, angling your head as you try to process the situation. “Is one of your boys wanderin’ about nearby? I can get a message to Steve—”

“No.” He interrupts, his voice rough and strained.

“No?” You echo. 

“I had a… let's say a run-in.” He replies, his tone clipped. “The street’ll be crawlin’ with ‘em, lookin’ for me. Best my boys lay low.”

“A run-in with who?” You press.

“Does it matter?”

“You’re gonna bleed to death if you stay here.” You retort, your eyes narrowing as you assess the severity of his wounds.

“You’re a witch.”

“And?” You snap back, folding your arms defensively.

“Heal me.”

You pause, head tilting in disbelief as you look down at him. “Heal—? Gods, you know I’m not a healer—”

“I never said it had to be good. Just stop the bleeding.” He presses.

“I’m not your pet witch, Barnes. You can’t summon me at your leisure.” You snip. Magic was broad in its uses, of course, but your speciality was never any type of healing magic, and Bucky knew that. You had always been one foot between the living and the dead. Your skills lay almost entirely in the territories of spirits and chaos magic. You knew how to look—how to feel—through the veil and channel it’s energy. What you did not know were healing charms, herbs, and potions.

Bucky leans forward, wincing in pain, and looks at you with a seriousness that catches you off guard. “You must know how it’ll look if my men find out that I bled to death in your home?”

“Are you threatenin’ me?” You ask, brow quirking. The gangster has a scowl across his face.

“No. I’m askin’ you.” His dark eyes peer up at you through bloodied lashes. Thick clumps of copper have hardened around the strands. “What do you want? Double your rate? Triple?”

“I’m no healer.” You repeat and let out an irritated sigh, biting the inside of your cheek as you waver in place. Hesitantly, you approach the filthy man, taking his face in your hands as you delicately analyse the damage. You can feel his throat bob as he swallows hard. “Just… don’t get your hopes up.”

You withdraw your touch, the skirts of your nightgown swirling around your ankles. You blindly fumble around your kitchen, locating a match for the candle that was still discarded on the floor. “You would’ve been better off going a few streets over to Isolde Briarwood. I’ve heard her potions are the best in the lower districts.”

The gangster contemplates your words. “I needed discretion.”

Smoke fills your nostrils as you strike the match, lighting the candle once more. You frown as you look over at Bucky. He looks even worse in the dim lighting. The cold, wet filth must have been sinking into his bones. You notice how he shivers. “I suppose you’re right. Isolde has never been known for keepin’ her gob shut.”

Bucky snorts.

Your gaze sweeps over to your narrow stairs, a pang of worry in your gut. “Do you think you’ll have enough strength to climb the stairs? I have a fire goin’ up there, and I’ll need to boil some water to clean those wounds before they start to fester. I should ‘ave enough coal to last us a couple hours—”

“I’ll be fine.”

Bucky hauls himself to his feet. You gape at him as his strength seems to momentarily return. A part of you wonders if the fall had all been for show, a reason to get you to touch him, but you notice his movements are slow and laboured. Every step seems to take a monumental effort as he pulls himself up the first stair. His hand grips the bannister tightly, knuckles white. 

You follow closely behind him, holding a candle in one hand, its flickering flame casting a soft, warm glow on the dimly lit staircase. Your free hand hovers near his back, ready to catch him if he stumbles. The light dances across the walls, illuminating the stains on his shirt and the sweat glistening on his brow.

"Easy now," you murmur, your voice soft yet steady. 

Bucky nods, his jaw set in determination, but you can see the exhaustion in his eyes. His breath comes in short, ragged gasps, and each exhale sounds like a painful rasp. You can tell he's using every ounce of his willpower to keep moving forward.

As he reaches the fourth step, his leg buckles slightly. You immediately step closer, your hand pressing gently against his back to steady him. The contact is brief, but you can feel the heat radiating from his feverish skin. You knew your hand would be bloodied when you withdrew it.

He grunts in response, a sound that might have been a chuckle under different circumstances. His hand slips on the bannister, and for a moment, he teeters dangerously. You instinctively move to support him, your arm wrapping around his waist.

"Why is your house so damn cold?" Bucky grumbles, his voice strained.

"Coal boy didn't come," you reply, a hint of frustration in your voice. “And we both know the Warrens aren’t particularly known for holding warmth.”

"Shit, doll," he mutters, his voice thick with weariness. "If I survive this, I'll buy you a new flat."

You try not to think about the possibility of him dying in this situation or the implications of such an offer, focusing instead on the task at hand.

You can see the effort it takes for him to lift his leg and place his foot on the next step. As you reach the halfway point, he falters once more. This time, his leg gives out completely, and he collapses against you. The sudden weight nearly knocks the candle from your hand, but you manage to keep hold of it, the flame sputtering wildly.

"Whoa, easy," you say, your voice gentle but firm. "Lean on me. We’ll make it."

He nods, his head hanging low. You can feel the tremors running through his body, the sheer exhaustion that threatens to overwhelm him. With a deep breath, you adjust your grip, taking more of his weight onto yourself.

"Okay, Barnes, here we go," you say, steeling yourself for the final push.

Together, you take the last few steps, the candlelight guiding your way. Each movement is slow and measured, the stairs creaking under your combined weight. You can feel Bucky’s breath against your shoulder, hot and laboured.

Finally, you reach the top of the stairs. Bucky sags against the bannister, his body wobbling from the effort. You keep a firm grip on him, not willing to let him fall after all this. 

“Here, next to the fire.” You murmur as you usher him into your room. The fireplace crackles lazily, casting a welcoming glow. Bucky lowers himself with some effort onto the rug in front of the fire, his movements slow and deliberate. The warmth of the fire seems to offer him some small comfort, and he leans back slightly, letting the heat seep into his battered body.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back,” you say, your voice soothing despite the urgency in your movements. You watch him for a moment, making sure he’s stable, before turning and rushing downstairs. Your heart races as you grab a pot, filling it with water. The stream from the tap seems to echo loudly in the silent flat. You try to steady your breath, but your fingers won’t stop trembling.

“Get it together,” you whisper to yourself, gripping the counter for support. You can’t afford to hesitate now. Taking a deep breath, you lift the pot, returning to Bucky’s side as quickly as you can.

When you reenter the room, Bucky’s eyes are closed, but his breathing is still laboured. He opens his eyes as you approach, watching you with a mix of pain and curiosity. Setting the pot on a metal stand over the fire. The flames eagerly lick at the bottom of the pot, and you watch as the water begins to heat up.

You kneel beside him, your hands still trembling slightly. “We need to get you clean first. And dry,” you explain, meeting his gaze. He nods, a grim determination in his eyes.

As you move to peel away Bucky's clothing, the reality of his injuries hits you with full force. In the brighter light of the fire, the mud, sewage, and dried blood caked onto his clothing are worse than you remember. The fabric sticks to his skin in a second, grimy layer, with the fibres melded and mashed into the lashes, which are partially visible through the torn sections. The smell is overwhelming—a nauseating mix of sweat, blood, and decay that catches in the back of your throat. 

“Who did this?” You press the gangster. “I didn’t think there were many high up enough to touch you, Barnes.”

Bucky grunts, his breath hitching as you begin to peel the shirt from his back. “I have plenty of enemies, doll.”

“Like who?” 

“You really want to talk business right now?” He snips. The shirt clings stubbornly, the dried blood acting as glue. Each inch you lift reveals more of his battered skin. The gashes on his back are deep, angry wounds, raw and inflamed. You have to work slowly, carefully prying the shirt away from his flesh to avoid tearing the wounds open further. Bucky’s muscles tense and twitch under your hands, his jaw clenched tight.

“I just don’t understand. How did this happen? Why were you alone… do you really have enemies powerful enough to jump you in your own streets?” You babble, the words distracting you from the nerves that were quickly climbing your throat.

“Arcana Castigatio ring a bell?” Bucky says gruffly. 

“You mean The Penance Boys?” You baulk. The lashes suddenly made sense. The Penance Family were a crime family that had founded a cult based on the religion of Arcana Castigatio. They believed in purification through suffering, administering lashings to themselves and others as acts of penance. They view lashings as a necessary act to purge sin and achieve spiritual purity. “I didn’t think they had business dealings in these parts.”

“They don’t. They’ve been pushin’ their luck, pushin’ their beliefs on workers in the Smokestacks, tryna recruit them for the factories over the river.”

“Gods, Bucky,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him. When you finally pull the shirt free, you see the full extent of the damage. His back is a mess of deep lashes, some oozing fresh blood, others scabbed over and encrusted with grime.

“So you went to deal with them alone?” You turn your attention to his pants, which are equally soaked through with mud, sewage, and blood. Your cheeks flush with awkwardness, but you know the filthy clothing needs to come off or the cold will never leave his bones.

“No. I took some boys with me.”

"Lift your hips a bit," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. Bucky complies. You work quickly, trying to remain clinical as you peel the wet fabric away from his skin. The pants slide down his legs, revealing more bruises and scars. He’s left in just his undershorts, and you both pointedly avoid acknowledging it. “Didn’t go well, I take it?”

“Let's say I’ll have a few mothers to visit in the mornin’.”

You frown hard, swallowing dryly. “I don’t think you’ll be quite on your feet in the mornin’. You already feel like you’re developin’ a fever.”

Bucky grunts, clearly in agreement but unwilling to admit it outright. With the worst of the clothing removed, you turn your attention to the task of cleaning his wounds. You take a clean cloth and dip it into a bowl of hot water from the pot, wringing it until damp but not dripping. The heat from the water stings your fingers.

You press the cloth to his back, starting with the worst of the gashes. Bucky hisses through his teeth, his body jerking involuntarily at the touch. You work as gently as you can, but each swipe of the cloth brings fresh agony. The warm water loosens the dried blood and muck, the cloth coming away dark and filthy with each pass. The more you lift, the more you notice that the skin untouched by wounds is equally scarred, as if this lashing had not been the first occurrence. 

His eyes close as you work, and his face contorts. You move methodically from one gash to the next. The wounds are deep and numerous, crisscrossing his back in a chaotic pattern. Some are long and jagged, others short but vicious. 

Finally, you finish cleaning the last of his back wounds. The cloth in your hand is filthy, the water in the basin turned a murky red-brown. 

“There,” you say softly, your voice laced with weariness. “That’s the worst of it.”

You stand up, stretching your aching muscles, and grab a clean bowl from the nearby shelf. You fill it with fresh water from the pot that is already over the fire. Kneeling beside him, you gently tilt his chin up to get a better look at the damage.

“I’m assumin’ the Peance Boys won’t be gettin’ away with this?” You ask, starting with his forehead, carefully dabbing at the cuts and bruises. The cloth quickly darkens with the mix of blood and dirt, but you continue, your movements precise and gentle. As you wipe away the grime, the extent of his injuries becomes more apparent. His face is a mosaic of bruises, some fresh and angry, others older and fading to a sickly yellow. His left eye is swollen nearly shut, and a deep cut runs along his cheekbone.

“You’re not wrong,” he replies, his tone rough and weary.

Bucky’s eyes open and meet yours, and for a moment, the room feels even smaller, the air between you charged with unspoken tension. His gaze is intense, a mix of pain, exhaustion, and something else you can’t quite place. You hold his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. Your cheeks flush, but you don’t look away.

“Hold still,” you whisper, trying to cover for yourself. He complies, though his muscles tense with every touch of the cloth.

“What’ll you do to them?” You ask, moving to his jawline, the cloth gliding over the rough stubble and the bruised skin beneath. His jaw clenches, a low growl escaping his throat as you clean a particularly painful cut. You hum soothingly, trying to ease his discomfort.

“They’ll pay. With time. I need’ta think on it first,” he responds, his voice a low rumble. His eyes flicker dangerously.

“That would be wise. I don’t think you’re in the condition to start a war.”

When you finally reach his lips, you hesitate. His lower lip is split, swollen, and red. You dab at it gently, your hand trembling slightly. Bucky’s breath hitches, his eyes darkening. “I don’t think it’ll be a war… more like… a massacre.”

His lips twist into a bitter smile despite the pain, and you pause, absorbing his words. Unease settles in your gut as you consider the weight of his intentions. You have always known Bucky to be analytical and sadistic in his methods, his revenge was cold and calculated. The word massacre echoes in your mind, and you can't help but wonder what horrors he will unleash. His wrath won't be a simple act of retaliation; it will be a meticulously planned and bloody spectacle. 

“You’re doin’ great,” you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper, masking the unease that nearly slips through. Bucky’s eyes soften slightly, a hint of gratitude breaking through.

You finish cleaning his face, the cloth now completely stained. You sit back, taking a moment to breathe. Bucky’s face, though still battered, looks a little better, the dirt and blood no longer obscuring his features.

Dumping the cloth on the ground nearby, you rise to your feet. You’d have to do another cleaning pass later with some soap. His hair was still slick with filth, the unmarked sections of his skin stained. 

Your head tilts as you observe him.

You needed to get those wounds shut as soon as possible.

“The best I can do is stitch up your back and use magic to seal it.” You explain as you wring out your fingers, wavering near the fire. “It’ll hurt. Badly. And the scars won’t be pretty.”

The gangster waves a hand at you half-heartedly, wincing as the movement pulls the torn flesh on his shoulders taut. “I’ll live.”

With hesitant steps, you dip behind him deeper into your room. You only needed two things—some strands of your hair and a needle strong enough to pierce skin. Later, you could make up a poultice or salve for his back, the wounds would be hot and inflamed once you sealed them, a paste could soothe them. You would also need to make up a remedy for his pain—a tonic of some kind. A tea would be best to shake off the cold.

You return to Bucky with your hairbrush and needle in tow. He gives you a quizzical look as you settle beside him. 

“Do you want me to talk while I work, or remain silent?” You ask.

“Talk. I have a feeling that I’ll need a distraction.”

You nod and pick up the brush. A clump of your strands are woven between the bristles. With deft fingers, you isolate a single strand and pull it from the mass. “I will use my hair as thread,” you explain.

“I can channel my magic through parts of myself.” You take the strand and briefly pull the fibre through your lips, wetting the end. “I’ll stitch your wounds and use my magic to seal the skin back together.”

You thread the needle with ease, pulling your hair through the eye in one gentle tug. “The magic will flush out any infection, but the scars will be painful for some time.”

“Will it break the fever?” The gangster asks. You frown, head cocking to the side as you pull your eyes from the needle to his skin. His face is rosy and flushed with heat. A thin layer of sweat glistens in the firelight.

“No.” You sigh, twisting the needle in your grip. The curved metal glints. “I fear your fever is from the cold, not your wounds.”

“It’s partly good news, though, it will be easier to break than a fever brought on by infection.” You shift so you are positioned behind him, staring directly at the criss-crossed lashes. Blood and fluid ooze from the tender flesh.

“This’ll hurt.” You remind him.

You start with the worst of the gashes, threading your hair through the jagged edges of his torn flesh. The needle punctures his skin with a sickening pop. Bucky’s body tenses, his muscles bunching as a low growl of agony rumbles in his chest. A slew of curses leaves his lips, incoherent through his grit teeth.

The smell of blood and sweat fills the air, mingling with the faint scent of smoke from the fire. Each push of the needle is nauseating. The skin resists each stroke of the sharp metal. With each pass, you can feel how your hair grows taut, and you are careful not to allow it to snap as you drag it through the skin. The raw edges come together with an uneven, painful precision.

“I did warn you, I’m no healer.” You murmur. The gangster does not reply. His hand grips the edge of the rug, knuckles white. 

You push through the process, your hands steady despite the horror of it. The strands of hair weave through his wounds, stitches wonky as they barely cinch the skin shut. Your lack of experience shows, but you decide it is not the time to comment on it.

Bucky’s low growl turns into a pained moan as you work on a particularly deep wound. His muscles twitch, and he nearly pulls away from you, but he forces himself to stay still. You coo at him soothingly, your fingers stroking across an untouched patch of skin in a silent gesture of comfort.

“Just a little more,” you whisper, your voice gentle yet strained. The tension in the room is thick, every sound is amplified by the silence between you.

You quicken your pace, your own heart pounding in your chest. The last few stitches are the hardest, Bucky’s body is writhing in agony beneath your touch. His growls turn into cries, raw and guttural. The smell of fresh blood is overpowering, and you fight the urge to gag as you finish the last stitch.

Finally, you tie off the thread, your hands shaking from the effort. The wounds are closed, but you still need to fuse them shut.

You take a deep breath, gathering your resolve for the next part of the process. The stitching is done, but now you need to seal the wounds with your magic. Holding your hands over Bucky’s back, you focus on the strands of hair threaded through his flesh. Slowly, you begin to channel your magic, feeling it surge from within you and through your fingertips.

The feeling of chaos sweeps over your skull, your scalp prickling as the electrifying feeling cascades down your spine. The strands of hair start to glow, a soft, eerie light emanating from them. Bucky tenses immediately, his muscles bunching and his back arching as the heat begins to build. The glow intensifies, with the strands heating up and melding with his skin. The smell of singed flesh fills the room, acrid and nauseating.

Bucky’s reaction is immediate and visceral. He lets out a guttural scream, the sound ripping through the quiet. His body convulses, his hands clawing at the rug beneath him. He cries out, but any words he is attempting to speak are incoherent through his agony. You grit your teeth, fingers curling as you hesitate, but you know this is the only way.

"Hold on," you murmur, your voice trembling. "Just a little longer."

The glow from the hair brightens further, the heat reaching its peak. Bucky’s screams turn into a hoarse, ragged howl, his body writhing in uncontrollable pain. It’s as if molten metal is being poured into his wounds, searing the flesh and fusing it together. The skin bubbles and sizzles, the magic knitting the torn edges with brutal efficiency.

You can feel his pain as if it were your own, each scream and shudder resonating through you. Tears blur your vision, but you force yourself to stay focused. Your hands hover just above his back, fingers trembling as you pour every ounce of your will into the spell. The glow begins to fade, the heat dissipating as the wounds finally seal shut.

This magic, your magic, was not meant for healing. It was not life magic or kind magic. Your magic had never been empathetic, never gracious or soft. Your magic was death, violence, and destruction. If you pushed the blinding white heat any further, it would tear him apart entirely.

You held onto something otherworldly—a power too wicked and cruel for a mere mortal. It lay between worlds, a focus of chaos invisible to the naked eye. 

It was not right to bend and force chaos to your will. 

Yet you could.

Bucky collapses onto the floor, his body shivering uncontrollably. His breath comes in frantic gasps, his voice hoarse from screaming.

"It's over," you whisper, your own voice barely more than a breath. "It’s done."

Without thinking, you rush to his side, dropping to your knees. You grasp his face in your hands, feeling the heat of his fevered skin against your palms. His eyes are half-lidded and glazed with pain, but they lock onto yours. For a moment, everything else fades away—the wounds, the blood, the horror of the past hour.

Your thumb strokes gently across his jaw, then his cheek, tracing the rough stubble and the bruised skin beneath. His breath hitches at the contact, his eyes softening just a fraction. "Bucky," you murmur, his name a fragile whisper on your lips. "It’s over now."

His gaze holds yours, a fleeting tenderness passing between you, but the tenderness is short-lived. You steel yourself, pulling your hands away and standing up. The scent of burnt flesh seems to linger in the air.

“Stay still. I will make up a poultice, it should stop the burning.” You explain to the gangster. 

But he does not reply. 

His eyes seem to have rolled back into his head.

PART FOUR

[swayhere]

canon starter call - open to anyone !

i have a strong urge to write some canon muses, so if you would be interested in writing against any of the canon muses listed under the READ MORE below, please comment/IM me and i can send a starter your way or reply to one of your starters.

i do not require you to know anything about my muse's canon, but i'm more than happy to tell you about it if you ask. i'd be happy to write canon muses against your ocs! also, mixing fandoms is 100% ok with me unless your canon muse is problematic and makes me uncomfy. my canon muses do not have all their memories or relationships from their life unless we plot it, but they will have the same general personality/ambitions.

if you are willing to write against my canon muses but don't care which, just like this post, and i'll take a look at your open starters and/or send you a closed starter at random with a muse i think fits the vibe.

*please don't agree to write against my canon muses if you're one of those picky weirdos that will be up in arms if i don't write a cannon muse exactly how you would.

( if you'd prefer to write against an oc muse only, check this post. )

canon muses i'd like to write: bold = extra big muse rn. strikethrough = exclusive, so not rn.

muses from tv shows: 

911 — eddie diaz , evan buckley , athena grant , bobby nash , karen wilson

911: lonestar — carlos reyes , grace ryder , judson ryder , t.k. strand , owen strand

as the world turns — dr. reid oliver , luke snyder

boy meets world — shawn hunter , jack hunter , angela moore , topanga lawrence

chuck — sarah walker , chuck bartowski , bryce larkin 

degrassi — jimmy brooks , sean cameron , ellie nash , marco del rossi , sav bhandari , drew torres , zoe rivas , miles hollingsworth iii , tiny bell , esme song , 

gilmore girls — jess , luke

good trouble — gael martinez , jamie hunter , callie adams foster , mariana adams foster , evan speck , joaquin perez , dennis cooper 

how i met your father — sid , ian , sophie , jesse

how i met your mother — marshall eriksen , lily aldrin , victoria

how to get away with murder — laurel castillo , connor walsh , oliver hampton , michaela pratt , frank delfino 

jessica jones — jessica jones

lost — kate austen , juliet burke , daniel faraday , desmond hume , sayid jarrah , sun-hwa kwon , claire littleton , walter ‘walt’ lloyd , charlie pace , hugo ‘hurley’ reyes , shannon rutherford , miles straume 

new amsterdam — lauren bloom , elizabeth wilder , casey acosta

new girl — nick miller , winston bishop , cece parekh

one tree hill — nathan scott , lucas scott , keith scott , chase adams , brooke davis 

outer banks (obx) — jj maybank , kiara carrera

please like me — arnold 

rosewell, new mexico — michael guerin , maria deluca , isobel evans

scandal — olivia pope , prezzy fitz

scooby doo — daphne blake

stranger things — robin buckley , steve harrington , jim hopper , chrissy cunningham , eddie munson , max mayfield , eleven , mike wheeler 

superstore — jonah simms

the 100 — finn collins

the bear — richie jerimovich, carmy berzatto , marcus , sydney adamu  

the mindy project — danny castellano 

the office — ryan howard , jim halpert , pam halpert , kelly kapoor , holly flax

the politician — river barkley , astrid sloan 

the young & the restless — sally spectra , adam newman , chelsea lawson , phyllis summers , lily winters , sharon newman , chance chancellor , victoria newman , tessa porter , amanda sinclair , cole howard

younger — josh , kelsey peters

muses from books: 

along for the ride ( book version only ) — eli stock , auden west , maggie  

one of us is lying ( book version only ) — cooper clay , nate

red white & royal blue — alex claremont-diaz , prince henry , zahra bankston

we were liars — gatwick ‘gat’ matthew patil

muses from movies: 

dead poets society — neil perry , charlie dalton , todd anderson

harry potter — lee jordan

les mis — enjolras , grantaire 

super 8 — joe lamb , martin , preston

twilight — irina denali , jasper cullen

[breaniebree]

Kismet Characters & Family Trees Part Eight:

Charlie Weasley (12 December 1972) GRYFFINDOR bf. Lee Jordan (1978) GRYFFINDOR (officially since end of 2010): 1. Aydin Dora Weasley (1 December 1996) GRYFFINDOR m. Leo Black (31 December 1996) SLYTHERIN (2019): a) Colten Raleigh Black (4 March 2020) SLYTHERIN m. Florencia Fazio NA (2022) (2045): i) Misha Black (2049) HUFFLEPUFF ii) Leonardo Black (2051) GRYFFINDOR  iii) Raleigh Black (2053) RAVENCLAW b) Bram Charles Black (27 August 2022) GRYFFINDOR m. Rebecca Higgins (2028) HUFFLEPUFF (2051): i) Zoe Black (2054) HUFFLEPUFF ii) Cadence Black (2057) GRYFFINDOR c) Jordan Arthur Black (6 February 2024) GRYFFINDOR m. Jaya Mukherjee (2022) RAVENCLAW (2055): i) Ari Black (2058) RAVENCLAW d) Jackson Sirius Black (22 October 2026) GRYFFINDOR m. Deanna Finnigan (31 January 2026) HUFFLEPUFF (2055): i) Norah Edwina Black (2060) HUFFLEPUFF e) Zayn Harry Black (4 November 2029) GRYFFINDOR m. Nari Chung (2028) SLYTHERIN (2052): i) Dal-Rae Black (2054) RAVENCLAW ii) Ayla Black (2057) GRYFFINDOR iii) Hana Black (2060) HUFFLEPUFF f) Nova Molly Black (3 June 2033) RAVENCLAW m. Nick Buckingham (2028) GRYFFINDOR (2057): i) Maverick Buckingham (2059) GRYFFINDOR ii) Micah Buckingham (2061) RAVENCLAW g) Nevra Charlotte Black (3 June 2033) GRYFFINDOR m. Wyatt Williams (2025) GRYFFINDOR (2054): i) Walker Williams (2059) SLYTHERIN ii) Wilder Williams (2061) GRYFFINDOR

Sirius Black (3 November 1959) GRYFFINDOR m. Zahira Zacarias (7 April 1964) NA (1999): 1. Harry Potter (31 July 1980) GRYFFINDOR m. Ginevra Weasley (11 August 1981) GRYFFINDOR (2000): i) James “Jamie” Sirius Potter GRYFFINDOR (5 April 2004) m. Hadley Grace Pritchard (2005) RAVENCLAW (2029): a) Rhysand James Potter (28 May 2032) GRYFFINDOR b) Emerson Fleamont Potter (11 March 2035) GRYFFINDOR c) Flynn Harry Potter (2 July 2037) GRYFFINDOR d) Grace Ginevra Potter (18 December 2040) GRYFFINDOR ii) Albus “Alby” Fleamont Potter (1 June 2006) SLYTHERIN m. Scorpius Malfoy (6 January 2006) SLYTHERIN (2031): a) Lyra Astoria Malfoy (1 June 2037) RAVENCLAW b) Celeste Ginevra Malfoy (5 March 2039) RAVENCLAW c) Archer Kai Malfoy (6 July 2044) SLYTHERIN iii) Lily Luna Potter (3 November 2007) GRYFFINDOR m. Oakley Wood (8 January 2007) GRYFFINDOR (2028): a) Nash Oliver Wood (31 July 2030) GRYFFINDOR m. Nixie Sparks (2032) RAVENCLAW (2058): aa) Sirius Harry Wood (25 December 2061) GRYFFINDOR bb) Remus Oakley Wood (25 December 2061) GRYFFINDOR b) Noah Harry Wood (31 July 2030) GRYFFINDOR  c) Magnolia “Lia” Katherine Wood (2 May 2033) RAVENCLAW d) Zinnia “Zin” Ginevra Wood (11 August 2035) HUFFLEPUFF  e) Zahira “Zee” Sorcha Wood (11 August 2035) HUFFLEPUFF iv) Cedrella “Ella” Theodora Potter (21 October 2010) SLYTHERIN m. Spencer Kane-Nott (3 July 2010) SLYTHERIN (2036): a) Logan Theodore Kane-Nott (23 March 2040) GRYFFINDOR b) Zeke Harry Kane-Nott (21 January 2042) SLYTHERIN  c) Nolan Everett Kane-Nott (11 November 2044) RAVENCLAW d) Westley Sebastian Kane-Nott (9 December 2046) GRYFFINDOR v) Everett Arthur Potter (21 October 2010) RAVENCLAW m. Xara Scamander (13 September 2016) RAVENCLAW (2039): a) Hazel Ella Potter (2 September 2040) HUFFLEPUFF  b) Galina Xara Potter (28 April 2042) RAVENCLAW  c) Landon Everett Potter (19 June 2044) GRYFFINDOR d) Waverly Luna Potter (7 February 2046) RAVENCLAW vi) Genevieve “Evie” Zahira Potter (9 May 2012) HUFFLEPUFF m. Christian Lyon (2008) RAVENCLAW (2033):a) Leif Christian Lyon (1 October 2035) GRYFFINDOR b) Autumn Ella Lyon (21 September 2038) HUFFLEPUFF c) Winter Willow Lyon (21 December 2041) RAVENCLAW d) Summer Lily Lyon (21 June 2043) GRYFFINDOR e) Spring Rose Lyon (21 March 2047) HUFFLEPUFF vii) Henry Remus Potter (31 July 2020) GRYFFINDOR m. Daniella Zabini (7 July 2018) RAVENCLAW (2049): a) Cameron Blaise Potter (1 January 2052) GRYFFINDOR b) Aidan Hunter Potter (23 July 2055) GRYFFINDOR  c) Jameson Henry Potter (14 March 2058) GRYFFINDOR  d) Emilia Ginevra Potter (17 August 2060) RAVENCLAW viii) Hunter Colten Potter (31 July 2020) GRYFFINDOR m. Sloane Hart (2023) GRYFFINDOR (2046): a) Simon Hunter Potter (14 February 2049) RAVENCLAW b) Shay Cedrella Potter (14 February 2049) HUFFLEPUFF  c) Colin Fleamont Potter (7 March 2053) GRYFFINDOR  d) Beckett James Potter (19 June 2055) HUFFLEPUFF  e) Parker Harry Potter (24 September 2059) SLYTHERIN f) Noelle Ginevra Potter (25 December 2061) GRYFFINDOR 2. Minerva “Mina” Euphemia Magnolia Black (31 December 1996) GRYFFINDOR  m. Grayson Goyle (28 September 1997) HUFFLEPUFF (2017): a) Zelena Minerva Goyle (26 December 2019) GRYFFINDOR m. Katerina Baxter (7 March 2015) GRYFFINDOR (2040): i) Erica Goyle-Baxter (2043) GRYFFINDOR ii) Antonia Goyle-Baxter (2043) HUFFLEPUFF b) Ariel Sorcha Goyle (3 April, 2021) HUFFLEPUFF m. Philip Davenport (2017) RAVENCLAW  (2047): i) Siri Davenport (2049) SLYTHERIN ii) Gregory Davenport (2051) RAVENCLAW c) Helia Marguerite Goyle (14 February 2023) RAVENCLAW m. Henry Rawlings (2008) RAVENCLAW (2048): i) Julius Rawlings (2052) RAVENCLAW d) Orion Sirius Goyle (6 September 2025) SLYTHERIN 3. Leonardo “Leo” Mikhail Sirius Black (31 December 1996) SLYTHERIN  m. Aydin Weasley (1 December 1996) GRYFFINDOR (2018):(re above)

Thanks to @ellieoryan7447 for taking the time and effort to create these.

[talicor]

Just a little something for @coloredgravity :3

Happy birthday fren

[daman19942]

Finally played for the first time in a few weeks (I fell down a Milkshape rabbit hole, but that’s a story for another time). 

Last time we checked in with the Beltz clan, Leo was a vampire and nearly died, Zeeshan still lived here (jeez that was a while ago), Wilder was a toddler, and Nash was growing a cowplant. 

Well, Wilder grew up (first to a child, then a teen) and I actually like the Ideal Plantsim genetics? I think he’s handsome as he is! Nash’s cowplant was now ready for harvesting (and harvest it did), and Leo continues to improve his magic skills by turning Nash into a chicken. I’ve always adored this house, and will keep it in the Beltz family as long as they are alive (RIP Max, gone too soon) and now I really enjoy the strange, supernatural testing grounds this lot has become.

[fawnvelveteen]

Stars Of 'Sabrina' Actors Audrey Hepburn (1929 - 1993) and William Holden (1918 - 1981) in a Nash-Healey roadster on the set of director Billy Wilder's film, 'Sabrina' (aka 'Sabrina Fair'), New York, October 1953. Hepburn is wearing a skirt suit and hat designed by Hubert de Givenchy.

[uovoc]

Tagged by @howdydowdy: eight shows books to get to know me

Same imma do eight books instead of shows because while I have turbo obsessed over a fair share of shows they don't really say much about me as a person per se. Shows are more just blorbo type.

8 books:

1. Matthew Swift series by Kate Griffin. The love of the nitty gritty mundanity of life that pours out of the pages. Didn't realize how deeply ingrained it had become into my brain until I reread it years later and was like "ohhhhh so THAT'S where I got that idea from... I'd forgotten..."

2. The Sudden Appearance of Hope by Claire North. Woman who literally cannot be remembered makes her living as a professional phantom thief. Devastatingly thorough psychological portrait of the outcome of isolation and self-reliance.

3. Pretending to be Normal by Liane Holliday Willey. There's something about seeing certain experiences you thought were just you, turn out to be shared by someone else. The incredible feeling of knowing that someone out there gets it. There are passages I carry around in my heart to this day. I also carry them around physically because before I returned the book to the library, I photocopied chapters 3 and 4 and put them in a binder to keep forever.

4. How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie. It's a cliche but it's actually good. Another one of those that years later I looked back on and went "ohhhhh so THAT'S where I originally learned this behavior that is now habitual".

5. Wilderness and the American Mind by Roderick Nash (3rd edition). Technically a history of the American conceptualization of wilderness. Read part of it for a history class. Loved it so much I read the rest of the book, too. After this book and that class, I understood the point of studying history. It undid the years of damage caused by high school AP US History. It completely changed how I view environmentalism and the back-to-nature ethos.

6. Forest Dreams, Forest Nightmares by Nancy Langton. Similar to #5 above, but specifically about the history of forest management in the American Pacific Northwest. Also completely changed how I view natural resource management, both the practice and the administrative structures. Namely: there's no such thing as a healthy ecosystem, only desired system states with varying levels of stability. But on a deeper level: the idea that values taken as inherent truths are social constructs.

7,8. Slots 7 and 8 reserved for future usage. IDK it's hard to think of books that have been as personally resonant as those ones have. But the night is young. The future holds more books yet.

[thatbanditqueen]

ahhh no way i feel like you have so much elvis knowledge under your belt already!! like i said the other day, i love reading the little easter eggs you leave in your stories!

if we’re talking books about elvis’s relationships then obviously the most comprehensive one is alanna nash’s ‘baby let’s play house’ (you can def find this one online free). some people don’t like it because they view it as sensationalism but it does go into almost every single relationship he had with a woman so it’s an interesting read as far as that is concerned. she’s also written three? other books about/relevant to him, and i’d say to give those a read, too. (side bar—for more info on his relationship with priscilla obviously her book is a must-read, but i’d also recommend ‘child bride’ by suzanne finstad. it doesn’t paint a great picture of priscilla, but it does give more insight into their relationship, and interviews people from priscilla’s past).

joyce bova’s ‘don’t ask forever’ is very interesting and sweet, and a little heart wrenching at times. they were together from 69 through to 72. she was actually the reason he flew to DC when the infamous nixon visit happened. it’s so much wilder than just him going to the white house 😭 he comes across as a deeply emotional man who at times felt too much and had a bit of a selfish streak, which is unfortunate but true of him.

linda’s book is one of my favourites and i always cry reading it, and as much as i don’t like her, ginger’s book does lend a look into the last year of his life. anita’s book also lends some insight.

‘are you lonesome tonight’ by lucy de barbin gives insight into a teenage elvis. ‘elvis and gladys’ by elaine dundy obviously discusses his relationship with his mother, but i think understanding that is integral to understanding *him* and how he navigated these relationships with women.

you’ve already mentioned guralnick and i think any of his books are required reading for elvis fans tbh.

some others you might find interesting (though aren’t about his romantic life specifically) is ‘the jewish world of elvis presley’ by roselle kline chartock and larry geller’s book. elvis confided so much in larry and it’s sad to see how outside forces were working to rip them apart, basically.

there’s just so many books on elvis, i couldn’t even possibly begin to name them all, but these are some i def recommend.

Seriously you are one of the people I think about when I write. I am here too study this man like my life depends on it, knowing him more and more just makes me so happy, and I think its fucking beautiful to have someone notice it.... its a pleasure loop for me.....

I have the Guralnick, Nash and then Priscilla's books and I ... ahem... did obtain them online.... but I feel like we are doing a public service publishing this list.. i had heard of child bride, and maybe the jewish one to, but some of the others i hadn't... jerry's book is on my list to, i started reading george's but something about it turned me off... maybe it just seemed obsequious to me... but I suppose it would be good to read, its at the bottom of the list.... honestly, the books by the women in his life appeal to me quite a lot....

thanks sweet love,

xoxox norah

[justapillowpetpanda]

Horror Roundup: Longlegs, Trap, Cuckoo & More Trailers!

Horror is already having a fantastic 2024 with films like Lisa Frankenstein, Abigail, Stopmotion, Late Night with the Devil, and others premiering since January. In this unique edition of Horror Roundup, we're grabbing and looking through a collection of recent trailers, key art, and more released for upcoming films in the genre. The indie horror corner also has some upcoming releases worth checking out (as if they don't have some of the best releases) but I'll be diving into those in a separate article. Let's dive in and freak out like totally normal people about some awesome horror films!

'In A Violent Nature' Trailer - Killer POV

Credit: IFC Films The enigmatic resurrection, rampage, and retribution of an undead monster in a remote wilderness unleashes an iconic new killer after a locket is removed from a collapsed fire tower that entombed its rotting corpse. In a Violent Nature is directed and written by Chris Nash.  The IFC film stars Ry Barrett, Andrea Pavlovic, Cameron Love, and others. The film arrives in theaters on May 31st. https://youtu.be/WyXuRmXbS7U

'Longlegs' Trailer - Best Horror of 2024??

In Longlegs, FBI Agent Lee Harker is assigned to an unsolved serial killer case that takes unexpected turns, revealing evidence of the occult. Harker discovers a personal connection to the killer and must stop him before he strikes again. The film is directed and written by Oz Perkins and stars Nicolas Cage, Maika Monroe, and Alicia Witt. Longlegs arrives in theaters this summer on July 12th. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ORe5cAnpTFQ

'Cuckoo' Trailer - Isolation Strikes

Credit: Neon Reluctantly, 17-year-old Gretchen leaves her American home to live with her father, who has just moved into a resort in the German Alps with his new family. Arriving at their future residence, they are greeted by Mr. König, her father's boss, who takes an inexplicable interest in Gretchen's mute half-sister Alma. Something doesn't seem right in this tranquil vacation paradise. Gretchen is plagued by strange noises and bloody visions until she discovers a shocking secret that also concerns her own family. https://youtu.be/NuON7HH0UkQ Cuckoo is directed by Tilman Singer and stars Hunter Schafer, Jessica Henwick, Dan Stevens, Marton Csokas, and Mila Lieu. The trailer makes me think of multiple iconic films in the horror genre that surround the fears of not being believed, paranoia, and potential exclusion and isolation. The film is set to release in theaters on August 8th.

Pictured: Hunter Schafer, Credit: Neon

'Trap' Trailer - Killer Concert

In Trap, a father and teen daughter attend a pop concert, where they realize they’re at the center of a dark and sinister event. Written and directed by M. Night Shyamalan, “Trap” stars Josh Hartnett, Ariel Donoghue, Saleka Shyamalan, Hayley Mills and Allison Pill. The film is produced by Ashwin Rajan, Marc Bienstock and M. Night Shyamalan. The executive producer is Steven Schneider. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=auNZNk7quaE

Trap will be distributed worldwide by Warner Bros. Pictures, in theaters only nationwide on August 9, 2024 and internationally beginning on 1 August, 2024.

'I Saw The TV Glow' Trailer - Surreal Horrors

The subdued and crushingly familiar surface of the suburban existence that teenaged Owen (Justice Smith) knows all too well begins to crack the moment he encounters the late-night television program The Pink Opaque. Steeped in mysterious visions of the supernatural, the show becomes a point of bonding between him and a classmate (Brigette Lundy-Paine)—and, years later, when it’s abruptly canceled, the unnerving alternate universe it envisioned begins to seep into the duo’s everyday reality. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kymDzCgPwj0

I Saw The TV Glow is directed and written by Jane Schoenbrun, who will appear at a member-only preview of the film on April 26th at the Metrograph Theater in NYC. The film releases in theaters on Friday May 3, 2024 (Limited) and Friday May 17, 2024 (Nationwide). Read the full article

[syfyhq]

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